


Hansel and Gretel: Beta Team

by Cortana



Category: Hansel & Gretel - All Media Types
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy tale science, Military, Military Science Fiction, Military Training, Other, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cortana/pseuds/Cortana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This short story is loosely based on the classic tale of Hansel and Gretel and was written for the “Writing Twisted Fiction” Facebook group. I have rated this piece “M”, which is not suitable for children or teenagers below the age of 16 years. Readers should be cautioned it does contain coarse language and graphic scenes. Please note that this piece has not been edited (except by the author) and is not inspired by any other piece of fiction. I hope you enjoy this piece, please let me know what you think in the comments!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hansel and Gretel: Beta Team

“Sierra-Bravo, do you have eyes on the target? Over.” Sergeant First Class Hansel Wagner crouched behind a large, thick bush and scanned the thick, dense forest in front of him, swivelling his Heckler & Koch HK416 back and forth as he looked for a target. 

“Negative Red Leader, over.” ‘God damn it!’ he silently cursed, the stress of the mission knotting the muscles in his back into tight balls as he glanced at the small countdown timer on the top-right of his heads-up display. In less than eight minutes his squad needed to locate the small house, which was located somewhere inside the massive forest, rescue the two hostages and neutralize the kidnappers while keeping an eye out for traps and other obstacles. Failing yet another mission meant they would stay at the bottom of the rankings and be drummed out of contention for the elite Beta Team. A forced return to the regular forces would be the greatest humiliation of his life and would be yet another black mark on his Father’s long list of his personal faults.

“Copy, Zebra-Tango, go left 50 yards. I am moving, over.” A single click on the small radio earpiece confirmed his instructions as he stood, ignoring the pain shooting through his cramped legs as he dashed behind a nearby tree. The black body armour, which was able to subtly shift colours to match his surroundings, was surprisingly heavy given how small and compact it was. Right now it was mottled shades of black, matching the dark forest, which was illuminated only by thin strands of moonlight that managed to penetrate the thick forest canopy.

“Anybody have a visual?” he asked after he had advanced several yards, keeping a close eye on his squad’s position in the small map of his display as he darted from tree to tree, pausing each time to scan his surroundings for targets.

“Flash bang, flash bang!” someone yelled into his ear as he ducked down and whirled, wincing as a bright green flash to his left caused spots to appear in his eyes. ‘Fuck, we don’t have time for this,’ he growled as he raced to another tree, his heart pounding as his squad mate groaned into his mic.

“Clear the air, clear the fucking air, God damn it!” A click sounded as his fellow trainee turned off his mic with a click, leaving the Sergeant alone with his increasingly desperate thoughts. The flash grenades scattered through the training area were enough to cause temporary blindness, which he had discovered the hard way on a mission last week. Two members of his squad were recovering, leaving them short-handed at the wrong possible moment.

“Alpha Leader, instructions? Over.” He glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing they only had one possibility left to complete the mission.

“Surge, surge, surge. Now!” Five clicks echoed in his ear as he set his jaw, pivoting his body around the tree and started dashing through the forest. Blood pounded past his ear, twigs and debris crunching under his heavy combat boots as he ran as fast as he could.

“Zebra-Tango to Alpha Leader, I have contact, repeat, I have contact, over.” The Sergeant slammed into a tree to stop himself as he glanced at the map, relief surging through him as he grasped onto the small glimmer of hope. 

“All units, converge on Zebra-Tango's position. Confirm contact, over.”

“I can see a small house in the woods, there are between four and five people inside, two sitting on chairs and the remainder standing or walking. Make that five, Alpha Leader, confirm five. I am painting it, over.” A small, flashing dot appeared on the map, marking the contact his squad mate had identified with the laser sighting on his assault rifle. He clicked the small button in the palm of his hand to confirm as he raced through the forest, determined to rescue the two hostages and complete the mission.

Branches ripped at his clothing as he continued through the forest, ignoring the occasional flashes of pain as he barrelled straight through a bush. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he closed in on his friend's position, his night-vision display trained towards the cabin. The large, bulging helmet of his fellow trainee swivelled towards him and nodded for a moment as their friend-or-foe identifiers flashed green. ‘I could have tagged your fat ass a dozen times by now,’ he thought, remembering the war games they had played against each other early in their training.

“I have visuals, over.” A quick glance at the map confirmed most of his team was in position. ‘Two minutes to go, fuck,’ he thought as he stood and aimed his rifle at the house. 

“Move in, move in, go go go!” The small, white dots on the map started converging on the target, the Sergeant pausing for a second as he realized nobody was covering the back of the house. ‘Too late,’ he thought, a small, icy ball forming in his stomach as he realized just how close this was going to be.

“Flash bang!” someone yelled as a bright light flared to his right. He ignored it, his attention focused on the house as he neared the front door. 

“Hands up, you are under arrest, surrender now!” he yelled as he burst through the flimsy front door, almost falling as he bounced off a wall. Adrenaline surged through him, masking pain and fatigue as he raced into the main room and stopped. The small hunting cabin had a typical design to others he had seen, a couch, bed and small table along the walls and a large open central area. Taking even a moment to examine the surroundings, which was key to successfully completing missions, drained precious seconds they couldn't afford to lose.

“Don’t step any further or we will shoot!” one of them yelled. All three of the larger targets were behind the two small hostages sitting in the chair. His night-vision provided just enough detail to confirm they were children as more members of his squad entered the cabin.

“Put your hands in the air and step back or we will shoot!” he demanded, training his assault rifle at the head of the nearest hostage-taker. “Fire on my command,” the Sergeant whispered into his microphone as he glanced at the seconds quickly counting down to zero on his display. Firing on them was a very risky strategy, but they had no choice if they wanted any chance of completing the mission.

“They're gonna shoot!” the closest hostage-taker yelled as the Sergeant released his breath and gently squeezed the trigger, the cross-hairs neatly bisecting the nearest head. The target fell backwards with a yell as he swing his rifle a few degrees to the right and searched for another target. 

“No, don't do ...” Vaguely he was aware that one of his squad mates was crying out as he squeezed the trigger again, frowning as he missed the next target. His body was tensed in a firing position, feet spread and braced on the floor, the rifle pressed against his shoulder to absorb recoil. 'You're not going anywhere,' he thought with a snarl, squeezing the trigger as a stream of bullets riddled the body as one of the hostage takers trying to escape. Long streams of hair trailed the corpse to the floor as he realized it was a women, not that it really mattered. The flashing red timer was about to hit zero as he looked at the hostages and realized one was slumped over, the remains of the head looking more like a smashed pumpkin than the skull that should have been there. 

'Shit, we failed,' he thought, panting for breath as 'Simulation Terminated' scrolled across the screen before the program terminated. The Sergeant's body tingled as he felt the straps keeping him in the plush chair loosen, goosebumps racing through him as he clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Recovering from the virtual reality programs always took a few minutes, especially from the more intense simulations like this one. Two strong hands undid the clasp holding the large virtual reality headset to his face and removed it, the sweat that had poured down his face bonding it to his skin almost like glue.

“Sergeant Wagner.” 'Oh fuck,' the military officer thought, squeezing his eyes shut harder than the bright lights of the simulation room required as the loud voice of the training officer penetrated his exhausted, overwhelmed mind. He slowly stood up from the chair, his muscles protesting every move as he realized he had sweated right through his thick uniform. Standing after a virtual mission was always weird, his brain needing a few moments to distinguish between what was real and what was a false memory.

“Yes Ma'am.” Gretel Schroeder shook her perfectly manicured head disapprovingly as he stood at attention in front of her, the tight bun at the back of her head not moving even an inch. Technically speaking, she was a civilian, but her tone and attitude demanded respect, her severe pantsuit even looked like a military uniform. In another life she might have been his commanding officer, but his country wasn't quite ready for that, especially not for elite units.

“What is your assessment of your squad's performance? Do you feel you completed the mission?” He swallowed as he glanced at the monitors covering two walls of the room, statistics and stills from the virtual reality program covering the screens.

“I believe one of the hostages was terminated at the end of the mission, Ma'am, which means the mission was a failure. My squad performed well and came close to ...” He winced at her reaction, the fine lines of her eyebrows arching as she gave him a withering look. An involuntary shiver raced up his spine as her pitch black eyes seemed to bare open his soul.

“Close? You came close to success, is that what you were about to say? One of the hostages died and the other was badly wounded, probably critically wounded. Your leadership was pathetic, you were far too cautious in approaching the cabin and failed to properly contain it. The computer program nearly had the hostage-takers escape, which would have been a catastrophic failure. Communication was poor, tactics were terrible, you failed the time component and, worst of all, you panicked at the end and killed three people. Is that what you consider close?” It took everything he had to stop his lower lip from trembling as her voice rose to a shrill pitch as she advanced on him.

“No Ma'am, as you said, we failed the mission.” Saying the word struck a hammer-blow to him, his chest deflating as he realized she was right. He had failed as a leader and, worst of all, he had let down his squad. Worse than the knowledge that he would be drummed out of contention for serving on Beta Team, something he had dreamed of for years, was the realization that his reputation would be permanently damaged. The military grapevine was the most efficient communications system on the planet and word of his failure would spread fast. 

“Yes you did. You and your squad were at the bottom of the rankings, and this was the last mission before the next round of cuts happen. You weren't good enough, Wagner. Any last words before we debrief with your team?” The Sergeant swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat as he realized his future, at least this future, was ending right in front of his eyes.

“Just one, if I can ask. You said I killed three? I only noticed two, Ma'am, the tall man and what looked like a women. Who was the third?” 

“I'm glad you asked, Wagner, perhaps this will reinforce what failure looks like.” She clicked a few buttons on the compact remote control in her hands and the screens changed, a view from his helmet camera coming into the screen. He felt his head nod as a bullet took down the first target, the screen slowing as he turned to aim at the second. The rush of combat filled him, exhilaration coursing through him like heroin, making him feel alive, like he was back in the action. 

“You switched to full-auto when you aimed at the second mark, who, by the way, had already been struck twice by your other squad mates. You made a small adjustment, right here, that sent this bullet towards this hostage. This is what happens when you fuck up, Wagner.” His mouth dropped open as the supercomputer that controlled the simulation followed the trajectory of one of the bullets. The young child threw her head back right into the path of the bullet, her mouth shouting in fear and panic. He gasped as her head exploded, like a melon struck with a hammer, her brains and fragments of her skull splattering the room with gore. 

The End.


End file.
